


Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

by Anonymous



Category: Sports RPF, Tennis RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Coffee Shops, Drabble, First Meetings, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute, Short & Sweet, author has ordered a ride to church, im really bad at tagging help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-05
Updated: 2020-05-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:32:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: It had taken him half an hour to shake the paparazzi lurking outside the hotel he’s staying in, still hungry for morsels of information after becoming world number one and his stellar win in Australian Open and back-to-back titles in Dubai and Indian Wells. They'd linger for several more hours still, but they weren't the smartest Roger had faced, and several detours and a change of clothes from earlier had done the trick. The white sweater he wore was thin and light. The dark shades hid enough of his face that most dismissed he passed by.The coffee is worth it, he told himself.The normalcy is worth it.
Relationships: Roger Federer & Rafael Nadal, Roger Federer/Rafael Nadal
Comments: 4
Kudos: 66
Collections: Anonymous





	Falling in Love at a Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

> au where roger first meets rafa in a coffee shop before their miami 2004 match. written as a self-indulgent pick-me-up because this quarantine is not healthy for my mental health. 
> 
> fic inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kLfjhSmvFjM)
> 
> unbeta-ed, mistakes are mine alone. this is obviously a work of fiction and none of this happened in real life.

Contrary to popular belief, Roger did enjoy “living normally” outside of tennis once in a while. Stepping out amongst the general public and blending in as good as he was capable of. Of course, he enjoyed the fame that comes with it, but sometimes he just wants some sense of normalcy outside the sport. He likes going out in incognito (as incognito as he could get, really). People would eye him with hopeful suspicion long enough that he could usually get his coffee and get out before they plucked up the courage to come over and ask.

And that was why he was here, he’s getting coffee. The best mid-grade coffee in Miami, if he were to say so himself. The coffee shop was small and quaint, housed only six tables, and was typically generous with being a place that recognized him only two out of ten times. All the staff behind the counter knew him but were kind enough to keep their excitement to a minimum. It helped that he left large tips, he supposed.

It had taken him half an hour to shake the paparazzi lurking outside the hotel he’s staying in, still hungry for morsels of information after becoming world number one and his stellar win in Australian Open and back-to-back titles in Dubai and Indian Wells. They would linger for several more hours still, but they weren't the smartest Roger had faced, and several detours and a change of clothes from earlier had done the trick. The white sweater he wore was thin and light. The dark shades hid enough of his face that most dismissed him as he passed by.

_The coffee is worth it_ , he told himself. _The normalcy is worth it_.

He was met with a strong smell of freshly brewed coffee when he entered the shop. The sun filtered through the window panes, and the overall atmosphere was warm and calm. The queue wasn't long, four people obviously needing their caffeine fix before heading to get through the day. The boy in front of him was restless, he couldn't be older than eighteen with a long and thick mane of hair that erred wildly everywhere that he might well have just rolled out of bed and walked out of the door.

A Babolat tennis bag hung heavy on one shoulder, stuffed full with the zipper straining in one corner. _Huh, a tennis player._ Roger noted to himself. He wondered if the boy is also competing in the tournament. He wore a baggy red graphic shirt that reminded Roger of the times when his parents would buy his clothes for him, too loose around the neck and hanging off the kid's frame like a blanket. The kid was practically vibrating with energy as his slender fingers kept on combing his hair over and over, and it made Roger's own hands twitch against his thighs.

The kid stopped fidgeting and decided to pick up the menu. It seems that he’s reading it very carefully, murmuring the words written down on the list. He looked pensive and thoughtful for a while, and Roger found it endearing. The line shuffled onwards without the kid so much as glancing away from the menu, but when it came to his turn he settled the menu he was holding and looked up.

"Hello, one banana smoothie _por favor_?" The boy asked, in quite possibly the sweetest voice Roger had ever heard. His English is thick with accent and he took the time to enunciate every word properly. Behind the counter, the barista's gaze had already latched onto Roger, and she flashed him a flushed, secretive smile as she tapped in the kid's order. Roger tipped his head, then raised his hand a little to catch her attention.

"And mine onto that, please," he instructed her smoothly, reaching past the kid to slide his card down onto the counter. Part of enjoying normalcy meant he carried a debit card around with him. The kid turned abruptly, clearly ready to start an argument, and his brain visibly stalled, jarring to a halt much the same as Roger's did. Because the kid was gorgeous. A babyish face with a strong jaw, round cheeks and dark eyes framed by long lashes. Pretty was the word that came into Roger’s mind. _Pretty_ , like a painting. Like a sculpture.

Roger reached up and slowly slid off his shades, fixing the kid with the most dazzling smile he owned. None of that smile he gave the paparazzi or when he’s stuck dealing with pressers. "The least I can do, really," he purred and winked at the kid, laying the charm on thick as the barista handed him back his card. The kid's brain seemingly hadn't come online again yet, gaping at him with flushed cheeks and wide eyes.

The kid's order was done by the time the kid managed to stutter out " _Mierda_ , you're Roger Federer," and Roger smiled at him and asked for the kid’s name. “My name is Rafa,” he said excitedly. Roger reached into his pocket, uncapping the Sharpie he always carried around before reaching past the kid to take his cup. Careful not to spill any, he scrawled his number across the plastic, signed it, and pressed it into the kid's lax grip.

"You should call me when you're done with your practice for the day. You're probably going to be late" he noted softly, eyes sparkling, and Rafa glanced down at the watch around his wrist, spitting a curse.

"I– You– But you just– _Puta_ , I gonna be late," Rafa rushed out, tugging his bag strap tighter and taking a step, before looking across at Roger, down at his cup, back at Roger. His mouth opened and closed and then he spun on his heel, practically fleeing for the door. When Roger turned back to the counter for his own, the barista was grinning at him, giving him a knowing look.

"He’s cute, you know," she informed him cheerfully, holding out his dark roast.

Roger raised a brow. _Is he now?_ He flashed her a charming smile.

"I might ask him out sometime."

**Author's Note:**

> come scream at me on [tumblr](http://rafealnadal.tumblr.com)?


End file.
